Obstruction of Justice
by Simply Shelby
Summary: Alex is having nightmares. And Jack decides something needs to be done about it. Takes place eight months after Resurgence. Third Piece in the For Neither Queen, Nor Country series.


**Obstruction of Justice  
By Simply Shelby**

He never screamed.

Jack Starbright remembered when her charge was small. A young, precocious thing with a mop of blonde hair and intelligent eyes. She'd fallen instantly in love with the kid and knew she'd probably stay with him for much longer than she'd expected. She'd stayed with him long enough to recognise the tell-tale signs of the boy's nightmares. The first happened just three weeks after she'd been living there and Ian Rider had been away for two and an half of those three weeks.

She'd awoken at a quarter past two in the morning. For some reason her heart was beating twice as fast as usual. For a long moment she listened for a sound and heard nothing. But, she couldn't bring herself to fall back asleep and then she heard the noises--the soft sound of a small body tossing in the bedclothes and the gentle hum of half-murmurs muffled by sleep.

A nightmare.

As her charge grew older, less early morning trips to his bedside were required of her and less midnight cups of not-quite-right cambric tea were made. Likewise, his nightmares became fewer and he hardly shifted restlessly or mumbled his dreams aloud. She had arrived at the conclusion that he no longer suffered from bouts of sleep terror.

Then he started working for MI6 and the nightmares increased ten-thousand fold.

Still, her attentions were neither wanted nor needed and she had the distinct feeling that he was embarassed about them. Very rarely, after an extremely terrifying dream, he'd make his way to her bedroom and simply sit on the floor beside her bed, saying nothing. Once or twice she'd tried to talk to him, but he'd shaken his head and politely asked her not to mention them. She knew he had his own way of dealing with nightmares and had respectfully kept out of the matter.

That is until he'd arrived home late one night from MI6, completely exhausted, bandaged, and looking a more than a little worse for wear. And Jack had worried. She always worried. He'd stood in the entryway as she ranted not even attempting to comfort her, kissed her cheek, muttered a goodnight, and trudged upstairs to bed. An hour and an half later, Jack was sprinting up the stairs after him in a panic.

Alex Rider was screaming.

* * *

It had been his choice to return to MI6--fully and completely his--and she respected his reasons even if she abhorred his conclusion. She didn't really have a say in what he did, as much as she would've liked. Sure, Alex listened to her opinions and her worries and her fears. And, yes, he took them into account. But she wasn't his mother and she never had been.

In the same way, Jack knew she didn't really have a say in this matter, either.

But she wasn't about to stand idly by and watch him suffer.

He wouldn't talk to her, she knew, at the very least he needed a male to talk to. Unwillingly, her mind ran through a list of people who should have been there to help: John Rider, his father, Ian Rider, his uncle, Ash, his godfather... and she clamped down on the feeling of rage and sadness of how much Alex could've had if things were much, much different.

Instead she remembered a card she'd seen in Alex's room.

Simply a name followed by a list of numbers to ring.

Pursing her lips, she came to a decision.

She needed help.

* * *

"I'm just about the last person Alex'll want to see; besides Alan Blunt himself," Ben Daniels's voice came over the line, generously omitting just why he was the last person Alex would want to see. "But I'll send someone Cub just might listen to..." there was a pause and Jack wondered at the name 'Cub' and how oddly fitting it sounded. Ben continued, "Wolf cut him out of that trouble in Syria eight months ago..."

The man's voice went on, but Jack's mind floated back eight months in the past and found herself wincing at the mention of it. God. That had been... suffice to say it convinced Jack she really didn't want to know what happened during Alex's missions.

At the very least, she was glad there was someone out there who actually cared about what happened to Alex.

"You'll recognise him when you see him, Jack. He's a bit gruff, but don't let that put you off. He really does care for the kid. More than he'll admit." The last, she knew wasn't meant for her ears.

"Thank you, Ben... I..." she wasn't sure what to say.

"Wolf'll put him straight, Jack. Cub doesn't have to do this alone and he should know that by now."

"Thank you--"

"Damn!" the expletive echoed in her ears, "I'll talk to you later, Jack." The man hung up.

For a moment, Jack wondered just what she'd inturrupted.

* * *

Needless to say, Alex wasn't happy.

He awoke the morning of Wolf's arrival to Jack's cursing in the kitchen.

Curious, he found Jack glaring at the bone china tea set that had belonged to Ian. He supposed it belonged to him now, though he couldn't be quite sure. The kitchen was an absolute disaster. And Jack was flustered, her face red enough to match her hair. He couldn't help the smirk that spread across his lips.

She turned towards his spot on the doorjamb to glare furiously. "Well, don't just stand there! Bloody Brits and their bloody British tea!"

Ah. She was trying to make tea.

Coffee, he knew, Jack had a wonderful mastery of--he desperately attempted to ignore the shiny espresso machine mocking him from the kitchen counter--not that he'd tasted it in a few months. But, give her a simple task of boiling water and adding tea leaves, and she fell to pieces. He remembered the awful so-called cambric tea she used to give him after nightmares when he was small. A second later, he pushed it from his mind as his stomach attempted to rebel. Best not to think of nightmares.

Refilling the kettle with water an grabbing a dustcloth to wipe up the mess, he posed a question that had just occured to him. "Is someone calling today?" Both he and Jack preferred coffee over tea, even though he'd been restricted to orange juice and milk for an indefinite period of time.

She looked slightly uncomfortable and Alex knew she was hiding something when she answered with a simple, "Yes."

He frowned. "Should I find someplace else to be?" Jack had dates often enough, but very few took place in the Chelsea house and it was awkward to have to ask the question.

"Of course not, Alex."

"You're being awfully forthcoming today, Jack." His eyes were narrowed and he watched her swallow nervously.

"You have to promise not to be angry with me..." she began.

His eyes widened, "That implies you've done something you know I'm not going to like." His mind ran through possible scenarios.

The doorbell rang.

* * *

She did remember him.

"Fox sent me," were his gruff words as she opened the door. They were simple, terse, military. SAS, she remembered from their last time together. Eight months ago.

"Thank you," she replied carefully, opening the door wider. From their last meeting, she remembered the man appreciated subtleties.

"Jack." Alex added in his two bits from behind her, the word packed with anger and frustration and betrayal.

"Alex," she tried to explain but the man inturrupted her.

"Cub." He greeted.

"Wolf." Alex responded, with the same type of words, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You tell me." There were words behind words and Alex was sick of it.

He stalked back up to his bedroom. Like any normal teenager would do.

But this did little to comfort either of the adults.

* * *

Jack awoke that night to the sounds of Alex retching.

She jumped out of bed immediately and ran down the hall towards the bathroom. Wolf was right behind her. For some reason, she felt she had to say something even though she knew the soldier wouldn't appreciate the rambling. "He's throwing up and it must have been a nightmare but he's never done this before and--" She broke off as the man pushed past her and opened the bathroom door.

She found them struggling on the tiled floor. Wolf had one arm wrapped around Alex's middle, keeping him from collapsing against the toilet. His other hand was running comfortingly through Alex's tousled blonde hair which was streaked with sweat. The boy's face was blanch and sallow and terrified. His eyes were closed tightly and the sour smell of puke assaulted her senses.

But military man was holding the boy close to his chest and murmuring some strange word over and over as if it had the power to soothe the boy's fears.

And it seemed to work.

* * *

"Nightmares are normal with the job," Wolf told her almost a week later. "And they're more intense for sixteen-year-old boys who have no idea how to deal with them," the last was directed across the kitchen towards Alex who rolled his eyes and focused on his homework. "Really, Cub," Wolf continued, "We go through all the trouble of getting MI6 to agree you needed a damn therapist and you decide not to fucking go!"

Alex held up his pencil, admonishingly, "I never asked for a therapist," he reminded slowly, "As you'll remember, I was practically unconscious the entire time!" He flung the pencil at the man standing beside Jack with precise aim only for Wolf to catch it. "Nobody asked me what I wanted!"

The man sighed deeply and took two strides across the room to place his hands on Alex's shoulders. "You think any of us want to waste our fucking time spewing our souls to a complete stranger? Its dangerous in this line of work to trust someone with secrets, but its even more dangerous no to. We all do it. Otherwise, we wouldn't be able to do the work we do. Otherwise, you'll be bent over the toilet the rest of your life!"

Alex stared. Jack realised she was staring, too.

"You're too good for that, Cub. You made a choice, and yeah, it comes with a hell of a lot of repercussions, but you can't let it take over. Let that happen and you might as well join what you're fighting against because you sure as hell aren't doing any good over a toilet bowl! Better to waste your time helping a cause rather than hindering it."

It was a lot of heartfelt words from the usually monotone military man.

Wolf seemed to realise this. "So get your ass down to MI6 and keep your goddamn appointment."

* * *

It wasn't as bad as he imagined it to be, Alex confided in Jack after several appointments.

The man who sat across from him was an ex-MI6 agent and had known his father, his uncle, and his godfather. He also knew that Alex was loathe to follow any of their fates. Terrified, in fact. It was something both of them knew, but the words remained unspoken.

"Well," the man told him, "You're stepping in the right direction."

God. He hated when the man actually sounded like a therapist.

"There are some things you keep to yourself in this business and some things you don't." He continued.

Alex inturrupted with a ill-tempered comment, "That means trusting you with a bloody lot."

"It's going to take awhile," the man conceded, "And I don't care if you sit there and bullshit me the entire time." And Alex hid a smile because that was _exactly_ what he'd been doing the entire time. "Because you're talking about things even if you don't know it and that's all that really matters."

And not once in all his sessions did the man call him 'kid' and that was enough to keep Alex coming back.

* * *

**AN:** I promised you I wouldn't fall off the face of the earth. And I haven't. I know it wasn't exactly what everyone was hoping for... but I'm hoping to write that 'eight months ago' thing sometime soon. Also, I've realised a lot of what happens in my AR stories revolves around the kitchen... or drinks from the kitchen.


End file.
